Waffenstillstand? Da, peremirie
by Writer Mione
Summary: What to do when your worst enemy is the only one that understands you? You should appeal to the last manner one may wonder, in order to reach your main target, even if it means to drop half of the world's jaws. A story about countries, humans, huskies, ponies, Latin Americans, parallel dimensions, internet and Fantasy.
1. Gas

_This is a Hetalia Axis Powers/World Series fanfic, written along with my friend Remmirath, and as the site won't allow us to post as co-writers, she's posting it in Portuguese, and I will slowly translate and post it in English too._  
_Hetalia anime, mangas and comics (c) Hidekaz Himaruya. Along with the canon characters, this story works with a large cast of OCs that, we hope, will please the readers. For better comprehension, we advice the reading of my other fanfic, "A stop by to Russia". _

_If you already read it, you'll probably notice a change in the way of narrative (3rd person now), but, I hope, not a change in the quality, at least not for worse._

_The cover image was made by us modifying this image we found in Zerochan and don't know the owner. Please, if you did it and want us to remove, just say it. We'll do it, we're not art stealers._

* * *

A Tyrolean screamed in the fields, louder than the roosters calling the morning. Because of it, Doitsu woke up, in spite of the heavy head for having ingested beer last night. To kill the hangover at once, he filled a basin with cold water and plunged his head into it. Ah! Better. Now he could think.

He dressed up carefully, with sober, harmonious and grey clothes. He combed, then, his hair, while frying sausages, which almost burnt while Doitsu followed on in the quest for the perfect parting. He swallowed the food, listening to the radio. Hm, problems with the gas ducts – the only thing that Russia was worthy for, and even this he couldn't do properly! "Well, well, in the end of the afternoon I pass by there in the border to solve this question", he mentally noted to himself, departing to the factory.

It was another calm day, full of metal, solder and noise, camaraderie in the refectory, and more noise, which he puffed with Rammstein in the headphones. There was not much difference, but he did not notice.

The bell rang, and the workers left the factory, humming, whistling, talking, and already settling who would pay for the beer that night. Distracted, Doitsu had even forgotten the issue of the gas pipelines, until he decided to light a cigarette, and, by association of ideas – fire, gas – he began to head for the border, with a bored snap of the tongue.

Doitsu was guided to the neighborhood of Frankfurt by the unpleasant smell. There, between a field and a forest, just upon the frontier line, there was a huge gasworks. Getting close, Germany whistled – a spark there, and we would have a new Chernobyl. Leaving the metal briefcase on the floor, he pulled a mask from it and wearing it, he entered the plant.

There were some Russians there. Without masks – Germany goggled –, they were trying to fix some holes and collapsed machines, they even had intelligence enough for it, but no organization at all, so it wasn't working. Keeping calm, Doitsu opened the machine and found that the problem was simply a tiny gear, which was locked. Meanwhile, the Russians had managed to replace the broken pipes, and the problem was solved before the sunset.

Very pleased with himself for having solved the problem, Doitsu decided to make a longer way home, a walk into the woods, also in order to detoxify. Even inside the forest there was gas, yet the trees had absorbed the biggest part. The little animals were still hidden.

Walking with the head high, and therefore, without looking at the ground, Doitsu ended up stumbling seriously. He swore, as his briefcase flew feet away. Turning to discover the cause of his stumbling, he encountered a body. No, it was not a corpse, at least at first glance. Drawing his pistol, he cautiously approached the obstacle, tiptoeing. No good was reserved for the joker, if they were trying to play him a prank – they would become a sieve.

The body was lying on its side with a huge backpack. Using the toe, Germany turned it, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. It was a girl! Medium height, powerfully built, light skin and curly hair. She had fallen weirdly over the huge backpack, glasses askew on her face, and a rip in the black blouse with a print of the band Blind Guardian. Here and there were some bruises, including in the face, produced by the trees' branches. She was breathing.

Doitsu leaned down, and still with gun ready, he gently nudged the girl on the left shoulder. She shuddered but did not wake, then Germany nudged her again, a little harder, and the girl sat quickly, looking frightened, twitching her fist aloft as if holding a dagger. Doitsu jumped back.

– Who are you? – both of them asked at once. – What do you want with me? – again.

– I ask it – Doitsu exclaimed, bothered –, you are in my house!

– I'm not in anyone's house, this is a forest – the girl answered, drily, rubbing her head. She closed her eyes, dizzy. – Fudge.

Calmer now, realizing that she represented no threat (immediate, at least), Doitsu put the pistol back in the holster, reaching out to help the curly-haired to stand up. The forest was dark, but still a little bit of light was filtered through the canopy of trees here and there, light that, hitting Doitsu's face when he straightened up, caused in the stranger an exclamation of astonishment.

– What is up? – he asked, looking around, when he saw her cover her mouth with the hand.

– Erika! – called the outsider, not answering, hardly able to pluck her disbelieving eyes from the German's face and turn around herself. – Erika, look at that! Heck, where are you?

– Who are you searching for? – Doitsu asked, suspicious.

– My friend… – the girl babbled, still searching. – We were coming back from the cinema, and suddenly…

– There was no one here but you – the German guy informed. The girl picked a mobile phone from her backpack, trying to call a number. For her frustrated expression, she wasn't succeeding.

– Argh! This darned Tim[1] never has signal reception!

– Tim? – Germany echoed, puzzled. After, deciding to drop this topic, he proceeded – Anyway, you have not told me who you are and what you are doing in my domains – he said, unsmiling. – What is your name?

–... Remmirath – she answered, after a while.

– Right, Remmirath. Unless you want to be attacked by foxes or other unpleasant animals, you cannot stay here, especially now, at night. My house is not far. We could go there, where you will recover from whatever happened to you, and you will tell me all about it – he said. He didn't ask if she would agree with that; he wouldn't give her this option. "If she is a spy, I'll better keep her under custody", he thought.

– …err… right – Remmirath exclaimed, shrugging and following Germany, which was already walking in rapid march. – Ouch! – she shouted, then, with a grimace of pain, when she stepped with the right leg. A joint had dislocated.

Wordlessly, Doitsu went to her, took the backpack from her back, throwing it over his own shoulder, and offered an arm for support, helping the lost girl in her way out of the forest.

* * *

[1] Brazilian cell phone operator, popular yet known for having the worst signal reception


	2. Some hours earlier

Russia was crossing the Polish lands, mumbling, towards Frankfurt. Latvia came panting after him, carrying most part of the equipment and having to run to keep up to the big man's stride.

– …apart from providing the fuel, I have yet to be caring for pipelines all the way up to his house. Slouchy Nazi. It makes me very angry! Kol-kol-kol!

– Calm down, Mr. Russia! – Latvia begged. – It's just a routine issue, it will soon be solved.

– And do you know what he told me in the telephone? "In the contract we signed, you impawned to replace the pipes in case of poor quality" - he imitated, comically, an extremely formal voice, making Latvia laugh. – Poor quality!? But it was a lightning that caused the leak! They expected me to do ducts with what, titanium? Kryptonite?

By shortness of breath, Latvia didn't answer.

In about an hour they were approaching the German-Polish border. Annoyed, Russia clucked at seeing police on both sides of the divide.

– Ah, Latvia, I forgot my papers!... This will be such an annoyance… – he said quietly. They stopped at a safe distance; some trees were covering the view from the police, which had not yet spotted the two countries.

Russia studied the situation.

– See, let's go through the woods until where we can. If we're lucky, it extends all the way to Frankfurt. At the gasworks, they won't make us a lot of questions.

And they went down through the trees, which formed a thicker and thicker blocking. They settled that Latvia would walk a few yards in front, to check if the coast was clear, it would be much easier for him to hide quickly if someone appeared. "But if you need help, yell" recommended Russia. That's why he jumped into the half-clearing in which Latvia had stopped, exclaiming "Ah!", halfway between scared, impressed and intrigued.

– _Chto?_ – Russia asked hastily, raising his _personal faucet pipe_ in the air.

Latvia merely pointed at the ground, some meters ahead, where two girls were fallen in a weird manner. One of them was that "Remmirath" described in the last chapter. The other, fallen more to the left, was a little smaller, the skin not as light and with wavy, though equally dark, hair. One of the Converse sneakers had flown ten yards ahead, and the respective sock was stuck in a high branch. This girl was immediately recognized by Russia.

– Why!, if is not my little friend Erika!... – he exclaimed, astonished, approaching. – I wonder what happened to her – he bowed to observe her better. – No doubt is she. But how many scratches!

– Maybe she was attacked – Latvia suggested, walking around the bodies of the girls and looking for an explanation for what happened there.

– Well, if that's the case, it's better for the offender not to cross our path – Rus commented, stern. – Anyway, we cannot leave her here. We are not far from the plant; soon the gas will arrive in the forest and in this clearing.

Stooping, he lifted in his arms the girl of the purple blouse.

– While I take care of our little problem there, you shall find a train for our return, and already leave her resting on our wagon – he instructed, starting to march again.

– Mr. Russia, how about this other girl? – Latvia asked urgently, worried about the curly-haired's fate.

– What about her? – Ivan Braginski asked, innocently.

– We cannot leave her here either!

– But I don't know her! – the big guy said calmly in return, shrugging and departing once for all. Latvia sighed, powerless, and ran to reach Russia, casting one last glance of sympathy to the fallen "Remmirath".

* * *

The train lights were lit at the time it entered St. Petersburg. "If we don't get home soon, I'm going to ask for something to eat" Russia thought, when he heard his tummy growling like a bear. He would like to wait and have dinner together with her, to celebrate her arrival. He focused again on the book, and tried to hold out a little longer.

A moment later there was movement on the top bunk bed. Raising slowly, the girl still managed to bang her head on the ceiling, moaning and falling laid down again. It took her a few minutes to get up again, looking around, sleepy and disoriented. Her eyes focused on the smiling face of Russia, and she blinked.

– ...dreaming – she babbled, trying to pinch her own arm, unsuccessfully: her motor coordination, which usually was not the best, was now undermined by the successive blows in the head. Helpful, Russia went to her and squeezed her arm.

– Ouch! – Erika shouted, awaking promptly. – You hurt me!

– I'm sorry! – he exclaimed, consternated almost to the point of tears. – I just wanted to help – then he smiled broadly. – I did not expect to see you again so soon.

– Me neither – she said, coming down from the bed with his help and trying to find out where she was. – I don't know how... in a moment I was walking down the street with my friend, discussing Johnny Depp's newest movie, and suddenly a lightning, but it was sunny!, and now I'm here – suddenly, she seemed to remember something. – Where's Karen? – she exclaimed. – Would she have ended up in another dimension? – And turning to Russia: – Haven't you seen a girl with curly hair and black t-shirt out there?

"_Blin!"_, thought Russia. "If I tell that I left her in the forest, she will go mad at me!"

– No – he answered, innocently. Erika stared at him for a while, suspicious, but she didn't have strength enough to insist.

– Where are you going to? – she asked, then.

– Home – Russia said. – My house – he specified.

– I need to find out what happened, and where that creature is – Erika sighed, worried, and massaging the head to lessen the pain.

– After – Russia said, touching her shoulder and pointing to the window of the train, which had stopped at the station. – Now, let's eat.

* * *

**Notes:**

_Chto =_ What

_Blin! =_ mild form of "Shit!" (literally "Pancake!)

Once again we recommend the reading of "A Stop By to Russia" to better comprehension of how Russia met Erika.


	3. Ludwig

_**Writer Mione says:**__ Hi. The first two chapters were written by me. From now on, all the chapters with Remmirath as main character were written by my friend, and all those with Erika were written by me. There are four-hands chapters too, you'll notice them by yourself. :)_

* * *

The way through the forest seemed never-ending and torturing to the curly-haired, especially with that darned dislocated foot and the silence lingering in the place, broken only by their steps. "Be attacked by foxes or other unpleasant animals, oh sure", thought the girl, glancing at the German man, whose face was blank. Her mind started to work again, thinking about how she had gotten there, where her friend could be, why she was hurt all over, whether that guy with Teutonic appearance was who she was thinking he was, if the candies she had in her backpack were still entire...

– Remmirath – Doitsu called, with his typical bass voice, and the girl nearly jumped, awaking abruptly from her daydreams and glaring at him, making him rethink about a possible menace on her part.

– Huh? – she inquired monosyllabically, after some seconds, marching on.

– If this is really your name... you still haven't told me what are you doing in my house – the man spoke suspiciously, still considering her a spy, despite he couldn't define her nationality. - Where are you from?

– I don't know how I came to this forest, okay? Or do you think I like to self-flog and faint everywhere I go? - Remmirath ironized, despising the first comment. - By the way, who are you? - she retorted, letting go of his arm and facing him.

– _Ich bin Deutschland_ – answered the German, laconic. Then he recalled that she probably didn't know his language, and repeated the sentence. – I am Germany and I ask the questions here, keep walking, it's getting dark – he commanded, holding her arm and retaking the march.

As if they had crossed a gap in the time and space, they quickly left to the border of the forest, where it was possible to see a huge training field, with obstacle courses, trenches and all the utilities to simulate a combat area, including tanks, amphibious vehicles and a hangar where you surely could find many more other guns and tactical equipment. Remmirath passed by it all goggling slightly, reckoning that for Germany it was probably normal to have that on the backyard, as well as a small kitchen garden with potatoes and a granary at the distance, probably keeping his famous sausages. They stopped by the few stairs that led to the back door of a typical German house with three floors, in whose roof formed by a group of little towers fluttered little flags of the nation. It seemed that they were all black, red and yellow, however ...

– Why there's a white flag there? – inquired the curly-haired, in an entertained voice, glancing sideways at the country that had started to puff smoke through the ears.

– Hetalia! – Doitsu growled, making the structures of the house shake, and soon Italy arose at the door, the white shirt covered with flour and tomato sauce. Germany froze.

– Doitsuuu, Doitssuuuu, as you were late I made the dinner – Veneziano spoke, with his curl waving happily, while tomato sauce came down his face. Just then he noticed the presence of the curly-haired brunette. – _Ciao signorina, io sono Veneziano__**[1]**_, do you want to eat a plate of pasta with me, vee? – he asked, grabbing both her hands with his and looking better at her. Noticing the scratches, the exclaimed, stupefied – What did you do to her, Doitsu? Doitsuu? – he called, then, and when he found out that his friend was no longer out there, he came into the room, taking the girl with him.

Germany, armed with disinfectant, sponges, mops, cloths and many other things was frantically cleaning every corner of the kitchen, which seemed to have entered into a war of tomatoes and flour. Within seconds the place was again clean, spotless and shining of whiteness. Doitsu rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand before returning his gaze to the two that were at the door. He pointed accusingly to Italy.

– You, what are you doing here? I told you not to use my kitchen.

– But... – the Italian started, being silenced with a harsh look and hiding behind the girl, trembling.

– Stay here and don't touch anything, Italy – Germany commanded, dressing the grey shirt again over the black tank top. – Remmirath, come with me – she took her backpack and walking by the aisle, passing by the dinner room and living room up to the stairs, where he helped her to climb until they got to a common room, simple, in which there were a single bed with a chest at the end, a bidet, a desk with some books and two doors. Nothing strange there but the double bars on the window.

Before she could speak something, Doitsu pushed the girl and her backpack inside and locked the door.

– What do you think you're doing?! – Remmirath shouted, extremely angry, kicking the door with her good leg, and swearing when she lost the balance and nearly fell. A wicket that she had noticed before was opened, revealing the sharp blue eyes of the German.

– I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, you will stay here until I get assured that you are not a spy, and if you try to run away… – he narrowed his eyes, letting the sentence in the air and closing the wicket.

– Oh, wonderful, this is all dreamt about. Become a prisoner in Germany's house… – Remmirath grumbled, dragging the backpack toward the bathroom. She mistook the door and entered the closet, then came back and went to the other door, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and locking it. – At least it's not in Russia, then I would be really darned, I'd never come out – and then an idea crossed her mind, while she was washing her face and the wounds in the arms. – If Erika also ended up in this dimension, then… maybe she already came here before… thus oh Erika, naughty girl! – and she started to laugh alone, remembering her friend's fanfic that she had read on first-hand.

While thinking about how she would do to try and call Russia's house, as she had the best and most efficient mobile phone operator in the world, she decided to take a shower, take care of her wounds and put on decent clothes. Or not: unhappily, the only spare clothes with her were from her steamplay. Half reluctantly, she dressed the same jeans, combat boots and put her blouse "like a pirate" with a black corset over it. If Germany wanted to interrogate Remmirath, ok, he would interrogate precisely her – she thought, replacing the glasses by the blue lens in the brown eyes and fixing the scratches in her face as she could. She put her tucked her things in the backpack and threw it beside the bed, sitting with arms crossed.

After a few moments, she heard a soft knock on the door before Hetalia emerging with a plate of pizza, making Remmirath's eyes shine and her stomach manifest. Veneziano looked at the girl, and then to both sides, confused, before asking.

– Veee~~ what are you doing here, bella? Did you see Doitsu's prisoner? – he asked, tilting the hair just before shouting with all the power of his lungs. – DOITSUU DOITSUUU the prisoner escaped!

As coming from a herd (of Doitsus) in overflow, Germany emerged breathless and with disheveled hair. He stopped by the door, looking from Italy to the brunette, and then sighed, facepalming.

– What do you mean, she escaped? Italy, you idiot, she's right there! – he said, harsh, pointing at the girl and frowning as he looked at her blue eyes. Surely a spy; only spies are so good with disguises.

– Of course not, she is totally different! – Hetalia insisted. Yeah, the same guy that had mistaken France for a girl. – And, just between us, this one is way better –he added quietly to his friend. – Neee, why don't we have dinner together? – he asked to the brunette, and didn't wait for an answer, pulling her by her hand and walking outside.

– Hallo², what do you think you're doing? – Doitsu snarled, grabbing the curly-haired's wrist and slapping Hetalia's head, so that the boy let go of her and hurried away, whimpering.

– Pizza... – complained the girl that couldn't even smell the pasta anymore, as it was literally running away. She felt herself being pulled and had to follow the German, who was nearly smashing her wrist as they walked down the aisle, and since when it was so lengthy? – Could you be less delicate? I still feel my arm.

– Quiet – Doitsu commanded, taking a set of Keys from his pocket and opening an iron door. Just as she suspected, it turned out to be an interrogation room.

– Ah, here you are, Westo... – came a voice behind them.

– Not now, bruder, I'm busy – Germany warned the albino, taking the girl to a special chair, to which he fastened her hands, under protests and some kicks.

– I never thought you were like that, little bro, I thought you were quieter and would prefer a bedroom, kesekese~~ – Prussia commented, leaning against the threshold with a malicious grin on his face. Remmirath goggled and blushed absurdly.

– Don't think foolishness, you retard! – Doitsu complained, slightly red, expelling his brother from the place and slamming the door. – That was not funny! [2] – he added, annoyed, hearing the "kesekesekese" outside. –I'm surrounded by idiots – he grumbled, pulling a chair and sitting in front of the girl that was looking at him, curious. – _Gut_[3]... will you cooperate and say what's your mission and who hired you?

* * *

[1] Hi, lady, I am Veneziano

[2] An allusion to the Gestapo officer in Monty Python's sketch "The Funniest Joke In The World". You can find it in youtube, and the scene we mention, in the minute 6:44.

[3] Well

P.S.: We watched the anime in Japanese with sub, so we will also speak "Doitsu" alternately with "Germany" in the descriptions, the weirdest it may sound. We just can't get rid of it. And because Italy and Germany lived with Japan for some time, we will make them can call each other sometimes by Japanese names.


	4. Ivan

In the penumbra of the room, enlightened only by candles, Erika watching interestedly how her messmate help himself to the twelfth dish. The only person, even fictional, that was able to eat more than Ronald Weasley (and more mannerly). Well, it wasn't probably easy to keep that little body of 17.075.400 km² of area. Feeling her eyes, Russia lifted his, smiling and wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

– I think it's good, isn't it? – he asked. – I don't cook as well as Kazak or Azerbaijan, but also not as bad as England. But you're not eating anything! – he found. – Don't you like it?

Erika had food tastes kind of selective and finicky, but among fifty dishes, you have to be too finicky, almost France, not to like at least one.

– Yes, but I'm already full – she replied.

– Full of thoughts – he commented, peering into her face. – What worries you? You don't seem happy to see me – he complained, slightly hurt.

– Yes I am – the girl said. – Despite the fear of not being able leave here anymore – she added sternly. Russia blushed slightly.

– You left once, didn't you? – he babbled, a bit angry.

As it was not wise to answer "Yes, but you are bipolar," Erika stayed quiet. After a pause, she said:

– It's not just because of you; I don't know how I got to this world, so I don't know the way back. And before I come back, I have to find my friend, or Mr. Miriam will kill me. Were it not so, and I would be singing _Korobushka__**[1]**_.

Russia made a mental note to come back to that forest during the night, hoping against hope that the other girl was still there. Then he got up and came around the table, kneeling in front of his guest, so that their eyes would stay on the same level.

– Listen, I will help you with it, I promise. Word of Cossack – he said, touching his own shoulder with the knuckles. – Tomorrow I'll start researching the theories about space-time that were created in my country and believe me, there are many. Now smile, _pojaluista_![2] – he asked, tugging the corners of her mouth up with his thumbs, so she ended up laughing for real. Russia stood and stretched. – Better like this. Okay, now that I killed who was killing me – he said, stroking the belly – and that Latvia seems to have made a good work – he continued, inspecting her (several) bandages – I have some business to attend to. Do you think you can spend the night alone here?

She goggled.

– Why? Where are you going?

– This – Russia answered, kindly, – is top secret.

– Yeah, then... I think I can. Just lead me to where I can stay. I don't remember the pathways of this huge house anymore.

– Of course.

Walking slowly because of a bandage too tight in the knee, the girl climbed the stairs with Russia behind her, giving the coordinates and ready to catch her if she stumbled – which, to her, was quite usual. Finally, they reached the same room she had occupied the other time, and Russia opened it with a key that he took from a chain around his neck.

– Done – he said, as she entered the room. – The clothes are also still there – he said, pointing to the wardrobe. – Deep, deep down, I knew you'd come back – he smiled.

"Well, I did not know," Erika thought.

– Anyway, I'll activate the missiles when I leave, then you'll be safe. But you better don't go to the backyard, just in case. Well .. _spokoinoi nochi__**[3]**_.

– _Spokoinoi nochi_ – she replied softly, closing the door. His hand prevented her from completing the action, and his violet eyes appeared in the gap for a moment, bright, before leaving.

* * *

[1] AKA The Tetris Song.

[2] Please

[3] Good night. (literally: Calm night).


	5. Interrogatory and Pizza

– _Gut_... will you cooperate and say what's your mission and who hired you? – Germany asked in his stern voice and with the usual calm, crossing his arms and staring at the brunette in front of him.

– Really? – Remmirath whispered, hardly believing that he still had those suspicions about her being a spy. She snorted, and would have crossed her arms if they weren't tied, holding his gaze. – No one hired me, the only 'mission' I was in was to take the bus at time to go back home. I and my friend, Erika, were coming back from the cinema when we started to cross the street and I think a lightning fall in front of us and everything went white… – the girl paused, frowning and trying to remember something else. – Maybe I'm dead, we were run over by Flash, a trans dimensional crack sucked us, we were abducted by the TARDIS[1], I don't know, is it enough for you?

– … – Doitsu stared at her strangely, rather because of the preposterous possibilities worthy of America's than actually mistrusting the story. He could tell when someone was lying. – Then, you came to my territory by chance.

– Exactly – the curly-haired confirmed, outlining a slight smile before saying – Better here than at Sealand – she shrugged.

– Where? – the German asked, puzzled, as he didn't know a country with this name. Or didn't acknowledge, in case, everybody knows the confusion that little Sealand is. Doitsu had raised a clipboard, who knows from where, and wrote a few things before asking. – So, you do not seem to be a country; where are you from?

– …Brazil – the girls answered, after some seconds, unsure about revealing her nationality, considering the prejudice of Europeans towards Latin Americans. – I live in the South – she added, to what the German shook his head positively.

A light knock on the door and an officer entered, handing him some papers, and threw the backpack of the girl on the table.

– Hey! – Remmirath exclaimed, irritated by the harshness of the man, who left the place without saying a word. – What did you do with my stuff? – she asked the country with glaring eyes and stomping her foot in the ground, as her hands were trapped.

– Routine inspection... – and the German read over the pages received before adding, with a raised eyebrow when reading her full name. – Remmirath, huh? Or is it Miss Felsky?

– I prefer Remmirath, if you don't mind…– she asked politely, and the blond man raised his eyebrows slightly before starting a series of usual questions, according to the handbook, to fulfill the information missing. Suddenly, the questions started to get… not so usual.

–… black or white? – Doitsu asked.

– It depends… related to what, clothes? – the girl replied, before answering. – Black.

– Pizza or lasagna? – the German asked, unsure, looking once more to the clipboard.

–…lasagna.

– Favourite musical bands?

– Blind Guardian, Rammstein, Sonata Arctica…

– Cats or rabbits? – Doitsu was starting to ask himself if they had delivered him the right cards.

– Dunno, cats.

– Do you like chocolate?

– Yes.

– Why did the kamikaze aviators wear helmets?

– It was part of their uniform…?

– What is your opinion about Doi…– the German swallowed the sentence, slamming his clipboard on the table while grinding his teeth and swearing mildly. – Hetalia. If he was not my friend, I swear I'd slaughter him, argh – he growled, throwing his clipboard in a drawer and putting the girl's identity card back in the bag, from where he pulled out a replica of an ancient weapon that seemed odd.

– Hey, who gave you permission to stir in my backpack? – the brunette asked, after a few minutes watching helplessly the German ferreting through her stuff.

– Your bag was already passed by the x-ray, but considering the strange objects, I have to check it before I could give you a visa to stay in my territory – Doitsu replied, putting back neatly the things where they were marked with an X on the picture that was on the clipboard, except for the weapon.

– I don't have a passport... – Remmirath warned, and, arching her eyebrows: – I probably not even exist in this world.

– That's why you will stay under my direct supervision until I get to send you back to your country in your dimension. We're full to the top of strangers – he said in a definitive tone, not giving alternatives for the Brazilian. – Where'd you get this blunderbuss? – he asked curiously, targeting the girl with the gun.

– In a shop that sells China's stuff, it's for a festival, it not even works... – the brunette spoke, preventing him from start thinking she was a terrorist. Happily, the object was put back in the bag and her hands were untied.

– How is your foot? – Doitsu asked, dropping the clipboard into a drawer and picking the girl's backpack, opening the door for her. Noticing that she was still limping, he offered her one arm as support, while looking to the other side.

– Tch – Remmirath snapped the tongue and rolled her eyes to the controversial attitudes of the German.

This time, they followed by another corridor and up another flight of stairs, turning left where they reached one of the towers of the house. An oak door unlocked by Doitsu revealed a bedroom way more comfortable than the previous, with beautifully carved ancient furniture. The German left the girl's bag inside and told her to take off her boots.

– Sorry? – the curly-haired spoke without understanding, sitting on the bed with giant canopies and red and golden velvet curtain. Was it Germany's house or it was Hogwarts?

– If you keep the boots you will break your foot – Doitsu explained, helpfully, taking giant slippers from a drawer and handing them to her awkwardly. – I'll be in the aisle – he warned, turning around and thinking it was better to ask some clothes for Hungary, much better than for his boss, who would probably send her back to Brazil without even wanting to know the story that was puzzling him.

Remmirath appeared beside him, a little shorter and with the feet on the slippers, feeling like a hobbit with giant feet. They walked in silence, retracing all the way to the floor below. Hetalia was lying on one of the sofas in the living room, drinking wine and eating pizza while watching SpongeBob. A pile of pastas stood on the coffee table, where there were also bags of potato chips, cans of cola, bottles of beer and wine.

– Doittchu! – Veneziano exclaimed, with his mouth full. – Dija finixx interrogatin'er? – he asked, before finishing the wine.

– _Ja__**[2]**_ – Doitsu answered, monossilabically, poiting the other sofá to the girl and gritting his teeth when he saw the crumbs of pizza that littered the floor. – And you better clean it up before leaving – he muttered, sitting down heavily beside his friend and grabbing a bottle of beer, which he drank heartily.

Remmirath, feeling out of place, grabbed a slice of pizza and started eating while looking at the cartoon, distracted by Plankton's plans for world domination, until she heard her nickname pronounced.

– Vee ~ ~ so what Remmi answered? – Italy asked between two slices of pizzas.

– Do you really think I was going to ask those questions, Hetalia? – Doitsu replied, in a quiet voice, finishing the third bottle of beer. – Glad I noticed you had changed the protocol of interrogation – he muttered.

– After reading the beginning, right? – Remmirath added, sarcastically, drinking a coke under a frown and a playful smile.

– Ne ne, then I can ask her too? When I tried with France and England they beat me – Veneziano asked in a tearful voice, but soon became bouncy again when the pirate in the TV started talking. – AYE, AYE CAPTAIN!

Germany just put his hand on his forehead and shook his head, smiling briefly and resolving to drink again, as the girl held not to laugh at the choreography of the Venetian, who was singing SpongeBob's song. When the cartoon ended, the Italian was resonating down on the couch, and then Doitsu was forced to drag him into a guest's room. Remmirath followed him, as she was not sure of the way to her room (or prison tower).

– Is it always like this? – the girl asked quietly.

– This is Italy – Doitsu said, leaving the door ajar, for a bit of light to enter, and following the Brazilian down the hallway. – Lately, after the war[3], and with this crisis, some countries have come here, for protection, food and money. Mostly money, they just want to be my friends for it – he commented. The drink had made him freer to talk. – My boss must be in the edge of a heart attack lately, I'm carrying the weight of almost the entire Europe in my back.

– So you are also in crisis in this dimension – Remmirath concluded, stopping in front of the oak door. – But at least you have Italy to support you.

– Yes, and it's because of the crisis thar you have to stay here, its ghost is dangerous and treacherous, especially with foreigners – he opened the bedroom with his bunch of keys, and delivered a copy to her. – Veneziano sleepwalks, you better lock it, good night.

– Hey, Ludwig – the girl called, causing him to look back over his shoulder, from the top of his 1,80m height. – Thank you for believing me – and she smiled with lips closed to him, who looked for a moment before continuing his march down the aisle.

In the middle of the night, Italy rose to his feet, frightened by a nightmare, getting rid of the comforter that was over him and going to hit with the face at the door before leaving, wandering, dragging the pillow while he groped all the doors. He stole a key from behind a portrait and opened the biggest door, sneaking into the room and lying down beside Doitsu, holding up the blankets. He heard a lightning and shivered.

Germany slept like a rock.

* * *

[1] Doctor Who's nave.

[2] Yes. Pronnounced like "ya".

[3] No, we don't mean the WW2. Read "A stop by to Russia" if you wanna know what we refer to.


	6. Indigestible Glares

Shunning the missiles in the backyard would have been easier to Lithuania if Russia had called warning that he had activated them. Luckily, they had worked together for so many years that the Baltic had developed a kind of _instinct_ that guaranteed his survival amid the instabilities of his boss.

Now, the disturbing part was _why_ he had activated them. Was he expecting an attack? Because if someone would try to enter Russia's house, 160% of chance that they would go there trampling through Lithuania's house. It may also be that he had gone out, leaving the place empty. So the question was where he would have gone, what would be so important to move him in the middle of the night?

A kind of butler, Lithuania was always the first to arrive. Seeing the door locked and no sign of life in the house, he began to tremble. To have Russia nearby was scary, but at least he was under your eyes – and now, what would he be doing? Opening the curtains hastily all over the house, he hesitated and struggled mentally until he reached the telephone, calling Estonia.

– Eesti! Everything alright there? – he asked nervously.

– Yes, yes. I'm on my way! Tell him I'm almost getting, I woke up late today, man – came Estonia's disturbed voice.

– No problem. He is not here.

Silence in the other end of the line.

– Really?

– Yes! I had to go through the missiles! – a new pause.

– Very well; what do you want me to do?

– Investigate. Find out what he is caballing. I got your back.

– Ok.

Calmer now, Lithuania rang off the phone and followed by the hollow, continuing his morning tasks. There was still half an hour before the others start arriving, and many things to do, and he went up to the second floor, whistling.

So, overlapping the sound of the whistling, he heard footsteps. He froze. Had he mistaken it? No, they were not the footsteps of Russia; these were much lighter. Well then? Starting to tremble again, Lithuania paralyzed, and then ran to a side room. In a corner, there was a cabinet, which he opened, pulling out a bottle of vodka. Opening the window, he broke the bottle in the outside wall, and thus he had in his hands a knife, which had been hidden in the bottle. Then he cursed himself for failing to muffle all the noise of shattering glass, as the steps were approaching. Lithuania went out by the other door, increasingly terrified: a thief had managed to get there?! He should be immortal!

It happens that the stranger had also noticed Lithuania's presence, and what followed was a game of cat and mouse in the style of an American thriller movie, which ended with Lithuania bumping into the wall of a dead-end corridor, and almost fainted on hearing this feminine exclamation:

– Litva!

The villain knew his name! With his heart jumping from his mouth, he turned around.

– Erika?! – he exclaimed in disbelief. Laughing at his face, the girl ran and hugged him by the neck. – B-but how…?

– I don't have idea! – she shrugged, still laughing.

– You're nuts... Utterly nuts! – Lithuania babbled, shaking his head. – I suspected that since you came once; now that you came back I'm totally sure.

Erika rolled her eyes upward, straightening her robe.

– Ah, Litva... you exaggerate concerning Ivan.

– Humpf – pause. – By the way, where is he?

– I don't know. He didn't tell me. "Top secret", he said.

– Oh my…– Lithuania moaned, scratching his head.

– Calm down, man! – Erika pushed his arm lightly. – You're a pile of nerves. Let's go, I'll help you to tidy up everything. If he get home stressed, and this is quite probable, we better have the house perfectly neat. So, how about our friend "Bela"…?

Sure enough. Russia returned at lunchtime, spoke to no one, going straight to a bedroom and muddying the entire path. He was frustrated not to have found the other girl, although he foresaw this outcome. He, who generally was not afraid of anyone, now feared the reaction of her Brazilian friend. And was annoyed with himself because of it. "My worst enemy," he observed coolly, lying with his arms crossed under his neck, "is this too soft beating muscle. I'm taking too long to pluck it once for all."

–...he was seen in Poland – Estonia was whispering to the other Baltics and to the girl, as they were all in the library, though busy in diferente tasks.

– Poland?! – Lithuania exclaimed. – Hm... Do you think I should warn him? – he asked, aprehensive.

– No – Latvia gave his opinion. – Yesterday we went there and didn't make any trouble.

– Did you? – Lithuania frowned.

– Yeah, Toris. That problem with the gas pipelines in Germany – Estonia said, as he was like a secretary, and thus was aware of those business.

– Yep – Latvia confirmed. – It was in a forest in the border that we found Erika and – suddenly, he got pale and shut his mouth.

– And...? – the girl inquired, curious, not noticing that the other two had also got silent.

– I would like to talk to you privately – a kind voice said, from the entrance of the room, turning the trembling trio into a quartet for some minutes. Even if she wanted to refuse this request, they were already alone there since Russia had pronounced the "…vately".

He closed the door.

– Sit down – he asked, perching in the opposite end of the divan, hands crossed on his knees. She waited for several minutes, but all that could be heard was the drizzle outside. Then she crossed her arms and held his stare, impatient.

Russia didn't move.

– Have someone ever told you how you get beautiful in a dress? – he asked, finally. She narrowed her eyes.

– Russia, quit stalling! – the girl retorted, espontaneously.

– Alright! – he exclaimed, bringing his hands to his head. – I found you knocked out in a forest and there was other girl next to you and her hair was curly I think she was your friend but I didn't know it I didn't know her so I left her behind – he confessed, in a single breath.

– Ãhn? – Erika said, but then, realizing everything, she jumped to her feet, in a totally Latin fit of rage, although uncommon in her, in spite of the liters of Spanish blood in her vains. – _Rossiskaya Federatsiya!_ How could you leave a defenseless woman, and moreover a friend of mine, in the middle of a forest? At the risk of being robbed, kidnapped, killed, eaten ...!

"Sufocated by the gas...", he completed inside his mind, but:

– I told you I didn't know, _da_? – he apologized.

– What you didn't know?! That she was a defenseless woman?

– That she was your friend.

– So what?!

– But she could be precisely someone that had been persecuting you – he tried. – Or a spy.

– Oh, yeah! And in a theatrical scene, we would have fought an epic battle and mortally wound one another, succumbing side by side on the battlefield? – she ironized.

– Why not? – Russia replied simply, shrugging.

Snorting, Erika moved away stomping. She stopped by the window, staring at the wet autumnal weather out there.

– Are you angry with me? – Russia asked quietly, behind her, frightening her again.

– Yes I am! – she answered harshly.

– But you still like me, don't you? – he asked, even more quietly, in fact, in a nearly unheardable voice.

She didn't answer. After a moment, she turned around, almost rubbing her nose in the beige coat, and stepping back twice to be able to face him.

– Tomorrow, even if it's still raining, we will come back to that forest and search for her – she commanded, hurtling his chest repeatedly with her index finger. Russia shook his head, dismayed.

– I already tried. I went there today.

She looked down for a moment.

– Then we will scour the entire area to find her – she decided. – We will camp, if necessary.

– I cannot be away for so long from my house! – he protested.

– Yeah? And what about the international meetings? And the wars?

– No possibility – Ivan denied, resisting.

– Excellent, I go alone! – she shrugged, resentful.

– No, you won't! – Russia replied. The very idea was foolishness.

– Do you want a bet? – the girl challenged, posting her hands on her hips. And, only 1.60 m high, she seemed to loom.

But it was not so easy to beat a Russian. For about half an hour, they were staring at each other sternly in the quiet room. They could envision the Baltics peeping through the keyhole, but none of them yielded until:

– Kolkolkolkol! _Ladno!_ I'll put my affairs in order.

He could not eat _her_ glares.

* * *

**Notes:**

"Litva" is "Lithuania" in Russian.  
Ladno = ok  
The title and the end of the chapter refer to the episode 30 of Hetalia World Series (around the minute 0:35), in which Russia eats, litterally, the deadly glares England casts at him.


	7. Veneziano

_"Far over the Misty Mountains cold… To dungeons deep and caverns old…"_ Under the low voice of Thorin Oakenshield, Remmirath awoke abruptly, sitting in the huge bed and looking at the phone's display.

– Heck, I forgot to turn off the alarm – she grumbled, tucking the phone in her pocket and groping all over the bed for her glasses. She walked like a zombie to the bathroom, trying to fix the complete mess aka her hair. She finished brushing her teeth and stood there looking at the mirror, without actually seeing anything. Her mind was travelling still in the strange dream she had had. It was better to forget that before she started to want to write another story about hay balls or conclusions. When she was thinking about what to do with the torn Blind Guardian t-shirt that she had used to sleep, she heard someone pounding on the door and promptly went to open it.

– _Guten Morgen__**[1]**_, it's a great pleasure for you to acknowledge the awesome me, Gilbert Beilschmidt – boasted the albino in front of the brunette, leaning on the threshold and analyzing her from head to tiptoes with his ruby eyes.

– Really_? _– the girl asked ironically, crossing her arms. She still hadn't forgotten his fool comment in the previous day. – Shame we don't share the same opinion, Prussia. What do you want?

– Oh, you... – babbled the red-eyes guy, blinking at the fact that this totally _unawesome_ human knew who he was. But he recovered in one sec. – Westo asked me to bring this for you to use while he tries to find clothes… adequate for you, human – he informed, with a malicious grin, delivering to the girl some neatly folded green and black clothes and a pair of plain leather boots.

– _Danke__**[2]**_ – Remmirath thanked, balancing the clothes on her hand. Arching an eyebrow, she asked. – Anything else?

– Oh, and the breakfast is already served, if you don't come in ten minutes, human, I'll eat it all. Kesekesekse~~ – the Prussian warned, laughing down the hall with the yellow bird flitting around him.

– I have a name, do you know? – she shout at the back of the crazy brother of Germany, closing the door. Eu tenho nome, sabia_? _– Gritou para as costas do irmão louco de Alemanha, fechando a porta. She dressed quickly, looking in the mirror and realizing that she looked like a soldier of German army. Green uniform with a black tank top underneath, complete with the boots. She decided to leave the uniform open, even if it could cause a bout of perfectionism into someone, and she held her hair in a sloppy bun while looking through a window; downstairs, in a training camp, she could see a desperate Italy running from an infuriated Germany. She laughed internally, looking at the watch, and then went down as fast as she could, limping through the same way she remembered from the night before. She ate just a piece of _apfelstrudel_ (apple pie) and drank coffee with milk, since it was the only option besides sausages of all kinds, which Prussia was attacking mercilessly. He was not kidding when he said he would eat it all.

– _Links zwo, drei, vier links__**[3]**_ – Germany was counting in his typical voice to boot the timpani, marching while Italy was almost dragging on the ground, trying to keep pace. They had been doing exercises for hours, the morning was hot and the sun was directly overhead, Germany's uniform shirt was tied around his waist and the black tank top stressed his well-designed arms. – Come, Italy, you have to get stronger!

– But, buuut... I have white flags! – Veneziano complained, whimpering. Then she saw the Brazilian girl coming, stood up and ran to hide behind her, or try it, as the girl was shorter than him. – Remmi, Remmi heeeeelp! – he asked, holding her shoulders and shaking.

– Quit behaving like a coward, Italy! – Doitsu roared, approaching them in heavy steps. – If you don't finish the 42 laps' race, I'll leave without pasta for two weeks!

– _No_, everything but the pasta! – the brown-haired begged, throwing himself at the feet of the blond and crying a waterfall.

– Hey, you could go easier on him... – Remmirath intervened out of pity for the poor and cute Italy, immediately feeling she should sneak out and run away before Doitsu's glaring should fall on her. – I mean, okay he is not a military prodigy, or economical... – she tried to mend. – ...but, think, he descends from Rome, he has one of the best cuisines and arts of the world, training to exhaustion after so many decades won't change him.

– Veeee think about the great grandpa Rome! – Veneziano asked, with his eyes sparkling.

Germany stared at the two of them for a few seconds before sighing defeated. He never knew how to deal with that face of his friend.

– The training is over for today – Doitsu said, and the Italian began to celebrate, hoping.

– Yeaayy! Yeaaayy!... But what about my pasta? – Italy asked worried, stopping and making the Brazilian laugh.

– Eat it in your house, I don't want mess in my kitchen! – the German warned, shaking his index finger in front of the Italian's face and going back to the Racing track: he hadn't finished that lap yet.

– Roger that, Captain! – Italy saluted, comically, turning on his heel and suddenly hugging the girl, who shriveled when he kissed her cheeks. – You saved me, Remmi, thank you, _grazie_! – and he tightened the hug, spinning her and almost crushing the girl.

– Ok, now leave me – Remmirath growled, embarassed, almost purpler and slightly dizzy due to the spinning.

– Hetalia! Leave the girl! – Germany commanded, arising bedhind Rome's grandson, who released the girl and was lifted by the neck, like a potato bag.

– Look, Germanycat! – Italy exclaimed, pointing at the cat that was passing by. Veneziano was released and ran after the cat in circles around them. – Wait, Germanycat, let's play!

– _Bist du okay?__**[4]**_ – the blond asked, looking at Remmirath, who was rubbing her arms and grimacing.

– Sure, I'm excellent, only just been crushed by half of Italy – the curly-haired joked, cursing quietly. – If the Venetian had embraced some of his enemies in war you have won quickly, especially that squeamish France.

– And how do I get him to do that? – Doitsu asked, he could not remember any of these tactical strategies in the books he had read.

– Perhaps saying that if he hugs this or that country he will win a one-month supply of pasta? If normal training doesn't work, you better try the reward system – Remmirath suggested snapping her shoulders as she watched Hetalia chase the kitty all over the field. Until the moment when the gray cat came running towards her and jumped into her arms, and she instinctively grabbed the cat, which turned hissing to the Venetian that came rushing madly, risking a collision. Remmirath closed her eyes expecting the worst.

– It seems one of America's ideas – Doitsu commented, before his pet had thrown itself in Remmirath's nap. With one hand, he held Italy before he could hurt someone. – Italy, be more careful, go play with your cat – he asked, with a huge drop down over his forehead while his friend was waving his arms in the air as if swimming.

– But, buuuuut ... I wanted to play with your cat, I don't know why he always runs away from me! – Italy whimpered, depressed, throwing himself to the floor and rolling to and fro, complaining.

– Err ... - Germany never knew how to act in those situations. His eyes widened when a red Ferrari convertible appeared at high speed, and Germany jumped, pushing Remmirath, who was almost hit when the car skidded.

– Myaaah! – Germanycat exclaimed, jumping to the ground before he was smashed, at the same time when Romano noosed Veneziano and sped up the convertible car.

– _Maledetto_ potato-eater! – swore Romano, sticking his tongue out at Doitsu, when he was already kilometers away.

– Scheiße*, brainless Italian... are you hurt? – Germany asked, his hands resting on the floor supported his weight, and he stared worried at the brunette. Both were slightly red due to the situation.

– If you get off, maybe not – Remmirath muttered, looking away to the side as he stood up. – Thank you, it's the second time today – she thanked, accepting the hand he offered to get up, hoping her face wouldn't blush more when her gaze fell on his strong arms and shoulders.

– And both were Italy's fault – Doitsu amended without noticing what the girl was looking. – Come with me, I want to show you something – he asked, going to the shed she had seen the day before. He frowned when he heard the strange laughter of his brother, wondering that he should be reading his own diaries again.

* * *

[1] Good morning

[2] Thank you

[3] Left, two, three, four, left

[4] Are you fine?


	8. Espionage for Dummies with Russia

The rain intensified during the night. After the dinner, served early, the other countries came back to their houses and, as Russia had vanished, Erika decided to use the time to prepare some things that they would need to take for the camping.

In this moment, she regretted never having read _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _and not to remember _Robson Crusoe _or another adventures' book that could give her a vague idea of what to carry with her. After fifteen minutes, she had accumulated before herself five water bottles of various sizes, some packets of potato chips, black bread, a Bible and a towel.

She sighed.

– Miav… – Russiacat walked by with his brushy tail skimming the shins of the girl, who laughed and took him in her lap.

– You're as needy as your owner, aren't you, big boy? – she said in a baby voice, while the cat nestled heartily in her arms that were bending under the weight of the pet. – Any idea of what else I can take? – she asked, more to herself.

The cat, however, seeming to have understood it, jumped down and ran to the door, where he stopped, waiting for her to follow. Feeling stupid, Erika went. If the puppy would lead her to something useful, she never got to know because she ran into his master halfway.

– Oh, I was searching for you right now! – he said, catching her wrist and dragging her by a side aisle. – Since we undertake this quest, I need to teach you some things, for safety. I was just waiting for all the staff to go away.

Erika arched an eyebrow curiously, waiting for him to continue in the explanation, which indeed he did.

– You see, we're not going for touristic purposes, are we? – she waved her hair. – We want to discover where your friend is. We will have to make some investigations, and no one likes strangers nosing in our territories. Then, we shall do it underhand. Disguise and investigation are an art – he said, smiling briefly – and, without wishing to boast, an art that I master.

They were in front of a huge door of carved cedar wood, located a few floors below ground, that Russia opened in a sweeping, theatrical gesture. Erika's jaw dropped observing the room. How she had managed to spend three years in that house, even a few months living there alone, without discovering anything about this room?

Whereas Russia's house, in general, had an old-fashioned aspect – in spite of an entire floor for the computers, and the two attics reserved for space research – that room was intertemporal: there was equipment so modern that would make America drool and Japan get confused when trying to understand its operation, and at the same time, with less prominence, still remained in the back all the ominous instruments used by the historical Russian secret polices, from the KGB[1] to the _Oprichnina_.

– Of course – Russia said casually as she explored the site, examining everything – if you tell someone about this place, I'll have to kill you.

Erika gulped, knowing that as it was him who was speaking, that phrase was not merely ceremonial. Anyway, she didn't have the intent to violate this combination. Except for eventually narrating everything in a fanfiction, which no one would believe, after all. Anyway, she turned expectantly to the country, willing to learn what he meant to teach. Russia pointed to a chair.

– _Nuh..._ – he looked around, not knowing where to start. – Later I'll explain you how to use this equipment, it's not important now. We need a plan of action, to know which countries we should visit in our quest. Espionage is one of the little things that I plan minutely – Ivan commented awkwardly, with a small smile and a hand on his nape. – _Horosho__**[2]**_, this is necessary because to every country we need a different level of caution, lest we get discovered. For example, America – he triggered a control, turning on a projector screen behind him, in which the mentioned character appeared plan and 3D and surrounded by various analyzes and descriptions – is one of the easiest to fool. Once you work to eliminate the accent and you're not named Ivan or Tatiana, they won't suspect. For this technical detail, I have to use an alias, but you, not even this! They would take for a Puerto Rican and completely ignore you. He really is an idiot – he commented, looking over his shoulder at the screen – and it is very fun to spy there, but I don't think your friend has ended up so far.

"Basically, we have to mingle, or no one will tell us anything, especially the xenophobic Europeans. This goes from wearing the right clothes, to speaking their language without accent. And also we have to behave in the same way as the social _stratum_ that we want to extract information from."

Thinking about it, Erika considered the hypothesis of pretending that she was deaf and mute in case they had to go to France's house, as she didn't know other words in his language than "oui", "non" and _"gracias"__**[3]**_.

"As I said," he followed on, "calling her to approach a map with little lights, "each country has a degree of difficulty, so we need to define where we go and what to bring, because we cannot walk loaded with stuff, _da_? The hardest to trick are Germany and England, which indicates that we already have a challenge, because it was in Germany's house that your friend vanished. After..."

– Then we can try in Italy. The Venetian may have found her and brought her there – Erika suggested, touching the country on the map, and it kindled, just as Germany was already lit thanks to the touch of Ivan.

– _Da_, _vozmojno__**[4]**_. The way he lives at Germany's house and considering that he cannot see a woman... – Russia agreed.

– Or maybe she has gone to Denmark – suggested the girl, sliding her finger to Germany's northern neighbor. – In spite of the fact that there aren't Vikings there anymore, only straight Nordics.

– We cannot dismiss the fact that she may be in Poland's house, too – Russia suggested, lighting that country.

– True – Erika considered – especially because she has Polish blood.

– Has she? – Russia inquired, arching his eyebrows.

– Uhum. Her family name is Felsky.

– And here we have why I didn't want to bring her. Congenital incompatibility. My blood must have felt it – he said, aghast at the mere thought of the pink madman of ponies.

– Well, then, it is important to look Austria too, and just pass by the Czech Republic. We can do this in the return. And if all else fails a result, you can always try the extreme western Europe; ninety percent of the people who come to Europe want to visit London or Paris just to brag to the others when they return home. I see it by my people – he laughed. – Maybe she could have gone there voluntarily.

Russia focused, staring at the map.

– So, our main targets are Germany, Italy, Poland and Denmark. In this sequence, right?

Erika nodded.

– Now come here.

The Brazilian followed Russia to another part of the room, consisting solely of hangers, racks, carefully cataloged drawers, and some mirrors.

– The secret – he said, picking some accessories here and there – it's to make much with little stuff. With a disguise that you can carry, you enter a crowded hallway as a person, and come out in the other side as another. To let any monitoring system with cameras crazy – he smiled, putting off the boots and replacing them with shoes because the time was not as cold to use boots in Europe. Then he took off his dolman, causing palpitations in the girl because the white and worn t-shirt he was wearing underneath followed the design of his muscles and broad chest. Not noticing her reaction, he used precisely this style of shirt to compose his costume of French, adjusting the pink scarf in a terribly effeminate way and messing his own hair, keeping it spiky with the help of spit, as if he was _~le stylist._

Erika did not know whether to laugh or cry for such a waste.

– _Salut,_ _cherrie_![5] – he said, he said shrilly, simulating three kisses two meters away from her face, and throwing the scarf back with a wave of the hand– What do you think of my costume? Yeah, I know, also I find it regrettable – he said then in his normal voice, at the retching expression in the girl's face – but it works.

He got rid of the scarf and brought his hair back to normal with his fingers quickly. Immediately thereafter, he took some utensils from a drawer in front of him, while asking Erika:

– Reach that suit for me, _da_?

As she turned back to him, he was startled to come across a gentleman in tie, blond mustache and whiskers, hair carefully combed with the parting on the right, and icy blue eyes behind square glasses.

– _Dankeschön, Fräulein Erika__**[6]**_ – he thanked, dressing the brown coat. – I am Yohann Spielz, _und _I zeek _Herr Direktor _in order to show my vork on ze operation of engines povered by carbonated vasser. Miss vould have zeen him by chance?

– Why! – the girl exclaimed, shocked.

– _Jawohl!_ – Russia exclaimed, laughing. – I especially like this one, because turning him into a British man is a piece of cake... – he commented, taking off the whiskers and the glasses and putting a golf cap over his neatly combed hair – …although it's extremely humbling the mere comparison of the appearance of an English gentleman of inbred and recorded generations, with a filler sausages of second category, whose head is square inside and out, and who needs a handbook to discover how to make a child – he complemented in impeccable British accent and sarcasm, making Erika burst into laughter.

Russia removed the disguise, dressing the dolman again, yet not closing it.

– The Nordics and the other Slavs are even easier. The thing gets complicated when we come to the Latin countries, because I'm too tall and blond and pale, in short, they can see me from miles away in the middle of a crowd. But if we need to go there, we can focus on you. You look exactly like one of them and, depending on the propriety of your clothes no one will even notice me.

The Brazilian girl crossed arms, raising her eyebrows strongly. Who was he thinking she was, the Globeleza?! Before she had time to ask for explanations of this comment, he was already digging in the drawers, from which he took three pieces that he handed the girl with the words:

– Now it's your turn – it was a red and green scarf, a necklace imitating pearls, and a painter's beret painter. – I want to see if you can make a French, a Portuguese, a Italian and a Spaniard with this.

Erika took the things, a little surprised, but she liked challenges, and then she concentrated. First, she tied the scarf over her loose hair, in the best "_Terra Nostra_" style, pulling the sides of the dress and doing a sort of wiggle.

– The Italian – said, and Russia nodded. Then Erika took the handkerchief, straightening the hair a bit, and putting the cap on them, a little skew. – The French – said, with arrogant air.

She took about two minutes to think about the next. So she tied her hair in a hard bun, and hung on the neck the long faux pearl necklace, which was very elegant on her black robes, reminding at the same time a nun, when she transformed the Italian's scarf in a shawl.

– The Portuguese woman – announced the girl, and Russia clapped. – But I don't know how to make the Spaniard – she gave up, returning the utensils to the boy, who stored them again.

– Really? But it is the easiest! – he exclaimed in amazement, and with a quick flick of the thumb, opened two buttons of her dress. For a moment, she froze, so an amazing blush rose in her face, and she closed her blouse again up to the neck, with a puzzled and angry frown.

Just then Russia realized the blunder.

– Listen, I didn't... I didn't mean to disrespect you, _da_? I was just giving you a technical explanation, please, don't... – he tried to apologize, reaching out a hand for her shoulder awkwardly, to what she instinctively retreated.

– I've already understood everything, thank you – she said, walking towards the door.

– I'm sorry – he said again; he put some things quickly into a bag and followed her, opening the door. – So... I'm sorry – he repeated.

– Ok – she said, sternly. Russia smiled.

– You can turn to the other side for an instant? – he asked. She obeyed. When she looked back to where the door had been, of course, there was nothing there. The girl did not even try to ask how it had happened. – Leave the rest of the preparations for me; I have more experience in these things. Sleep well – Ivan wished, stepping away from her once, and pointing to the ladder. She ran up.

Locking herself in the bedroom and pushing the dresser to block the door, Erika sat on the bed, taking off only the shoes. It was really Russia who she feared, "Or is it me?" she thought.

Amid the chorus of crickets that sounded outside, she could almost hear Remmirath laughing at her, if she came to know about that little incident.

* * *

[1] KGB = USSR secret police, opposite to the American CIA in the Cold war. Oprichnina = considered the first secret (and terrible) police of Russia. They were also the personal guards of the Czar Ivan IV, the Terrible.

[2] Horosho means "well", and Nuh is an equivalente interjection.

[3] Allusion to the movie "Mr. Bean's Holiday". Please, I know that "gracias" is Spanish!

[4] Yes, it's possible

[5] Hello, dear!, in French

[6] Thank you very much, Miss Erika. Und = and. Herr Direktor = Mr. Director. Jawohl = yes.


	9. Weapons and Their Stories

_Sorry for the long delay in delivering this chapter, but I have a not so pleasant new: I will continue delaying as my classes have started again and I'm studying an awful lot of subjects this semester (and trying to study Russian in the free time, therefore...). Not much time left to translate._

_But exercise patience! I'll post a new chapter every time I can. For now, I hope you enjoy this one. Kisses, the writer._

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The hangar painted in camouflage colors that was located in the border of Germany's training camp would show itself really bigger when you approached it, and even more incommensurably big inside. For Remmirath, someone probably had casted an expander spell in the room or folded the time-space dimension to fit so many machineries, almost a whole industrial complex, a huge workshop, and still a lot of weapons of every kind spread on the ground, the ceiling, and hanging from the walls. The girl's chin literally fall, especially when they started to walk towards the place where were the airplanes, tanks, automobiles and some strange and old vehicles, whose names were spoken by the German, along with the year when they had been made, the material they were made of and the engineers that had projected them – among a lot of other information. The girl wouldn't be able to retain not even 10% of it, especially with Ludwig speaking so excitedly for having a listener that was actually paying attention, for a change. Well, no wonder, it was probably impossible to explain those things for Italy. When they reached the 'golden wall' with the guns, swords, axes and armors, the curly-haired girl almost freaked out trying to hold herself and only look at the weapons.

– Can I... can... can I hold one of them? – the brunette asked, after a long time looking amazed to the weapons in front of her. She turned her brown orbs to Ludwig, who stared at her sternly for some minutes. Then he sighed, reaching out for a small axe with a carved wooden handle and a worn blade, and placed it in her hands carefully.

– This belonged to my grandfather, Germania – Ludwig explained, and then he pointed with his gloved hand to a small red spot in the blade, - He used it to rip the head of whichever Roman general, but don't tell Italy about it – he added, looking around as if Veneziano would simply pop in the air behind him.

– No problem, the way he is he would probably cry a waterfall for knowing such a thing – Remmirath commented, carefully putting back the weapon in its place. - By the way, it's part of his History, he should already know about it; Romano may have already told him, but anyone that reads a little about history could discover it, anyway – the girl amended, before the German could suspect about the source of so much information, and pointed to an especially magnificent sword, asking about its history.

The time flew by, literally, while Germany was telling the history of every weapon that the girl was interested on, including tanks and planes, which were not few. For the rest of the week Remmirath entered the routine of waking up, have breakfast, watch Ludwig training, and then follow him to the shed and take the opportunity to explore the site (and train fencing with swords / axes, imagining herself in an epic battle when Doitsu was not looking). Then she would eat lunch, talk with Prussia (which lately was a bit down, missing his glorious days) and return to the shed. Germany was often very busy in the lab, workshop or forging something in the mini-industrial complex, but always appeared in the late afternoon to introduce her to more war machines, deep in conversation with her about battle tactics, the best weapons to use in certain situations, or narrating the wars that he had participated in... So detailed and spontaneously that he did not seem the same serious and frowning character she knew.

– Where is this elevator going to? - Remmirath asking when she noticed, for the fifth time, the freight elevator positioned between the industrial complex and the manufactory. Considering that the hangar was nearly open and there wasn't a second floor, this just could mean one thing – Underground?

– Precisely, but you're not allowed to enter there – Ludwig declared, matter-of-factly.

– Don't you have, by chance, a kind of chemical or biological weapon that turns people into zombies? – the girl inquired, frowning and narrowing her eyes to him, who kept silence and scowled. – You are too crabby, d'ya know?, I was kidding – the curly haired grumbled, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, and then she noticed a great cuckoo in one of the walls, and she couldn't believe it was already almost 7 p.m. Doitsu followed the direction of her eyes and checked the time in his wristwatch too.

– And you watched too many of America's and Japan's movies – Germany declared, walking toward the exit, with the girl behind his heels. - You should have seen the hours before, we countries have different needs from yours, humans, I can endure a long time working without eating or drinking and not even notice it.

– It's ok, I ate a lot of that apple pie after the lunch – the brunette stated, before he started to think she would languish of hunger. The blond guy stopped for a moment, looking at her.

– Did you like the Apfesltrudel? - Doitsu asked in quiet voice, looking away forward.

– Yes, it was delicious, did you buy it? - she asked, thinking about taking it to her friend to taste it, when and if she found her.

– No, I made it – the German confessed, surprising the girl, who started to laugh quietly, embarrassing him.

– I'm sorry, just... pff... – Remmirath muffled the laugh with one hand, breathing deep and setting her face on a neuter expression. - No one would believe that you, so belic and methodical, cooks better than England... although anyone cooks better than him, even Pierre – the girl digressed, before gesturing for him to forget it, while laughing alone remembering France's bird.

– Yeah, no doubt she has a bit of Poland's craziness, but she would be a worthier ally than Italy, if she were a country – Germany thought to himself, writing it down in a small notebook that he was keeping as an Observation Journal about the Brazilian girl. He put it back in his pocket quickly, when she reached him. – I need to take care of my dogs before I prepare the dinner, you can wait me in the house if you want – he advised, marching towards the kennels, next to the barn.

The brunette glanced at the empty house, where she descried someone in the window of the last floor, sneaking at them through binoculars, and then glanced at Germany, who was already far. She ran after him, her curiosity speaking louder than her hunger. During the days she had stayed there, she hadn't even noticed that there was any dog in the house; she hadn't even heard barks, although she remembered that Germany had about three dogs, according to the official information of the anime.

– How many dogs do you have? – she asked in order to check her information, but it was needless to answer when tenths of plushy and muscly German Shepherds appeared in front of them, barking to Doitsu, along with gigantic Great Danes, piebald or brown. Those last ones reminded her of Scooby Doo, and she pointed at them. - You feed these with sausages[1]?

– Sausages are rewards if they make a good job – Ludwig said, pressing a button that opened a hatch, automatically filling their plates with food and water inside the kennels, quickly devoured by dogs. - Come here, they need to know who you are – he asked, reaching ou his hand to the girl that was walking through the bars. With a whistle, all the little ears stood up, attentive, and another button opened the doors of all the cages.

Contrarily to the girl's expectations, instead of a troop of angry dogs charging on her, or jumping on Ludwig, the German Shepherds stood silent almost in attention, waiting for commands, while the Great Danes were finishing the food, even from the other's cages.

– Blackie, Aster, Berlitz – Ludwig called, and then said some commands that the girl didn't understand, due to the heavy German accent, or maybe he was speaking German-shepherdish language.

A German Shepherd named Blackie emerged from a crowd of dogs, sided by the Golden Retriever Aster and the Doberman Berlitz. If they hadn't approached, the girl wouldn't be able to spot them among the other dogs, but now in front of her it was noticeable how they were more muscly and stronger than the others – they could only be Germany's official dogs. Blackie, apparently the leader of the band, emitted two loud barks before approaching the girl, cautiously, staring at her with those chocolate-colored orbs that reminded her so much of her favorite pet. Feeling awkward, not knowing what to do, Remmirath stretched her free hand so that the dog could smell it, and after she patted him lightly. The other dogs approached too, repeating the action, and after two minutes she was already surrounded by dogs with puppety shiny eyes asking for caresses.

– You have a bit of Italy's blood, don't you? - Germany asked, with a hand on his forehead and little purple lines of disappointment with his best trained dogs.

– I love animals, I like them rather than humans – the girl commented, shunting from a giant Dane that almost knocked her to the ground when it tried to lick her. – One of my neighbors has a female German Shepherd, I don't even know who he is but I know that the dog is named Meg and it's as cute as this one – and she stroked Blackie, that was the nearest, scratching the back of its ears. – Geez, they are so needy, you only train them?

– Of course, I gave them all the discipline needed for a good watchdog – Doitsu declared, getting a bit frustrated that his precious discipline had gone downhill because of that girl. Although he had never had a woman as a prisoner; perhaps the dogs were only curious and reacted differently; damn Italian genes, they were probably stronger in women, for not even to Italy his dogs would give the paw.

– Doitsu? – Remmirath called, waving her hand in front of the German's face to see if he would come back to the Earth. – Have you finished your meditation moment?

– Let's go, I still have to make the dinner – Ludwig commanded, in a neuter voice, grabbing the girls hand and walking hastily, in a way that she was almost flying after him. The dogs tried to follow them and barked in protest, but with a single whistle and some words they dispersed, going to patrol the yard for intruders and spies. – And you will get rid of all these dog's hairs if you want to get inside my house.

– Why you... and how am I supposed to do that? You are also dirty and sweaty from the training, I bet a lot of dog's hairs adhered to your clothes too – the curly haired girl retorted, when Germany stopped.

– If you had simply left them to acknowledge you, we wouldn't have this problem – he declared.

– And by the way do I read minds in order to know what you did want me to do? – she complained, snorting annoyed and narrowing her eyes to him.

– First fight, already? – Prussia exclaimed from the threshold, with his eyebrows arched and holding himself not to laugh at his little brother's and the prisoner's homicide faces.

– Sure up your mouth, Prussia! – both of them rampaged at the same time, in their respective languages, turning their heads almost like The Exorcist's girl to shoot the albino with their eyes. Prussia shrugged, turning his bloodshot orbs to their hands, and went away with a smirk on his face, laughing quietly and in megalomaniacal way.

– Your brother has mental problems... – said the girl in a relaxed tone, looking away to the side without mentioning that she hardly felt her right hand.

– And only gives me problems – Ludwig completed, slightly flushed when he realized he was still holding the girl's hand, he hadn't even perceived that it could be misinterpreted. He released her hand, passing his own by the hairs in the back of his head awkwardly. – Take off the boots before entering and try not to bump into anything – he asked, coming into the house.

– I will walk quietly to my room – the girl agreed, saluting him in a much more appropriate than Italy. She kicked off her boots, leaving them at the entrance and went blowing in quick steps through the kitchen toward the stairs.

Ludwig took off leather gloves and reached a cold beer in the fridge, opening it and sipping it eagerly as he looked thoughtfully into the hallway, leaning on the kitchen counter. He left the empty bottle in the sink and hurried up the stairs to his room, after all, he needed to take a quick shower and put on clean clothes before preparing dinner for his... prisoner...

* * *

[1] Unhappily I couldn't keep the Remmirath's joke here. She makes a word play. The character Shaggy, in Portuguese, is named "Salsicha", that means "sausage".


	10. Heroes of the Asphalt

_Sorry guys, for this unforgivable delay! I suggest you to subscribe to follow the story by e-mail, because this scholar year is totally punk. :/ I hope the wait was worthy. Here you have another chapter. Enjoy_

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Pam! The door of the old Trabant almost fell when Russia closed it behind himself. One week had gone and they couldn't go out till then, because the rain had turned the soil into a true swamp, and Ivan had used this time to teach Erika more things about espionage, when the other countries leaved every night. Nothing else related to clothes, however. Tying the safety belt, he commented to the girl on the seat beside him:

– I always forget to be delicate, so that this old machine won't fall apart. I bought it int the Eastern Germany.

– Then it's older than me – the brunette smiled, making the driver goggle.

– Ok, don't embarass me. What about, let's consider that I was born in the Perestroika, so we have the same age.

– Haha, alright – she said ironically.

– How young I am! - Ivan Braginski smiled, with a mocking sigh.

– You are a child – Erika said kindly. He stared puzzled at her. - Forget about it.

– As we're talking about ages – Russia spoke – my disguise of Yohann Spielz will make me too old for you. Then you will be my daughter. Can you speak German?

– Do "Yawohl" and singing _Rosenrot_ counts? - Erika asked.

– Well, be an obnoxious daughter, the kind that talks to no one – the man advised. - If they insist too much, I can say you only understand Russian.

– You thought every detail – Erika complimented.

– You ain't seen nothing yet – Russia smiled, blinking an eye to her. He opened the glove compartment, taking two documents out of it. – I was born in the Eastern Germany and I'm married to a Russian woman, what explains the dark hair, yours and of your sister – Karen, isn't it her name? What a sad story, isn't it? We will need one to tell it to the official bodies. It's useless to ask to the people in the street, the German wouldn't answer it, they would simply point to the police station. By the way, do you have a picture of her, that we could show?

– No... - Erika replied, checking the documents that he had delivered her. - I don't walk with photos of my friends in the wallet, not even from my mom! This would be strange. By the way, where did you sir got this? - she asked, lifting "Erika Spielz's" document, which had a 3x4 photo of her in it. She couldn't recall giving it to him.

The only answer she got was that so Russia-like mysterious smile.

To this point, they already were in the general road that would lead from Moscow to Minsk. From there, they would take another road towards Poland, and then to Germany. Eighteen hours of travelling, and take the roads, in Russia, isn't the smartest option. It was almost an adventure, mainly due to the bad conditions of the highways, caused, partially, by the freezing and melting that ended up spoiling the asphalt (when there was any). They should have gone by train, but the car was important to carry their stuff, and to move more freely inside Europe. The biggest problem was that Erika used to feel sick in cars or buses; two hours were complicated enough to her, then what to say about eighteen! But, not wanting to bother, because he was doing a favor to help her solve her problems, the girl did not tell about it. When she felt he was starting to get sick, she asked to turn on the radio to take her mind off the sickness.

– Of course. If it still works – Russia allowed.

Turning the old button, Erika tuned a radio of Moscow. There were news. Russia payed attention for a while, but after he lost his interest, and Erika, who wanted to listen to music, changed the station. In one of them they were playing Lyube; funny songs about Russia's uses and nature, but a little too slow. She turned the button again. Michel Teló?!

– How did this trash get here?! - Erika exclaimed.

– Don't you like it? - Russia glanced curiously at her.

– Do you? - she exclaimed, mesmerized.

– A little. He made a concert here some time ago.

The girl arched her eyebrows. "Well, this is what happens when we're such a big country, there's no accounting for taste inside you", she philosopized. She changed the station again, and this time she was satisfeid with what she heard, for it was:

– Ariya! – she exclaimed, glad, leaning back on the seat.

– Do you know it? – he marveled Erika grinned.

– I know much about you, my boy – she replied, making him immediately swell of pride.

– They're good, aren't they? But I would rather like when they had Kipelov – Ivan commented. - This song pretty fits the moment – he added, pointing at the radio with the chin. It was playing _Geroi Asfalta_, that is, Hero of the Asphalt.

As Erika didn't know this song, she simply followed the rhythm, drumming her index fingers in the panel of the car, until the song changed to Ulitsa Roz_, of the same album. The DJ had probably left it playing and gone to the bathroom._

– _Ya lyublyuuuu, i nenaviiiiju tebya-aaa-uooo-ô!_**[1]** – she sang, when the chorus came, waving her arms and nearly hitting Russia with a left punch.

– It really seems that you hate me! - he laughed, swerving. - Take care.

– I'm sorry! - she asked. - I happen to get excited with Metal.

– Alright – Russia pacified. - You know I wouldn't suffer a scracth if you actually hit me. But if Letonia was here beside you, you'd send him flying with such a punch.

Erika succeeded in abstracting for a while by singing, watched with smiley curiosity by Russia, but then the DJ of the radio must have come back from the toilet and changed the CD in the station to another band that she didn't know, and the girl went quiet.

And the qualm started to be felt, transforming the not-so-kind young lady in the Donkey of Shrek:

– Are we there yet? – she asked, for the seventeenth time.

– _Neeet!_ – Russia answered, compressing the steering wheel with his hands, and a shadow of a purple cloud taking shape in front of his eyes. He was a patient guy, but _that _could even wake Greece. – Now, shut up your mouth, _DA?_

The Brazilian girl stared at him in shock, and her eyes went wet. Then she turned to the window, crossing her arms.

– Erika – Russia called, after about one quarter of hour. No answer whatsoever. – Erika?... – he tried again, a little later.

– I feel sick... – she answered, her voice slurred.

He stopped the car at the roadside, but it was too late.

– Well... – he commented, looking at the "damage", with his hands crossed on his knees – we've rode eleven hours already – he checked his watch, – I think we could stop.

Russia went out the car and opened the trunk, bringing a canteen and a change of clothes for the girl.

– Do you need ... any help? – he offered awkwardly. Erika shook her head, accepting the utensils he had brought. – Then I'll ... set up the tent, and light the fire ... You'll want to eat, da? Well, just in case... You can change in the car, I won't look to this side.

And he walked away, retreating in the field beside the road. Examining the trees, Russia scraped trunks and larger branches with the tip of his pipe, looking for twigs that, finding, he tore. He quickly gathered a good pile of them, which he huddled in an area, protected from the wind by trees, and pitched the tent there too, easily, thanks to his considerable military experience.

Ivan was preparing a potato soup when Erika approached. They ate quietly, she, because she still felt a bit of discomfort and annoyance, and he, because he felt attuned with the nature in that dull and windy twilight, and at these times, he had no desire to talk. As they had left early, they already were sleepy, and Russia allowed the girl to sleep in the tent, while he would a find a place for himself in the car, since she was not very fond of the smell of gasoline. Later, however, he ended up lying on the grass because it was not very comfortable to sleep in a seat, especially considering his size.

Near midnight, due to a war of squirrels that took place alongside the tent, with ninja cries of all types, Erika aroused. Unable to fall asleep again, she left the shelter, so that the cold wind would make her want to go back there.

The night was beautiful, though dark; clouds, blown away, had given way to a moon that looked like the smile of the Cheshire Cat, and a few stars twinkled here and there, like fireflies. Strolling through the camp, she watched the squirrels for a bit, then approached Russia, watching his face, so clear that it would almost reflect the diminished moon, and even sleeping would keep that enigmatic smile. Suddenly, his violet eyes popped opened, startling the girl.

– _Da?_ – he asked, sleepy.

– I'm sorry, I didn't mean to awake you – said the Brazilian. – I was just here looking…

– Alright; that's the vigillance habit, I awake even with a mosquito that flies by differently. What were you looking?

– Nothing, just that... – she blushed, feeling fool, but answered - Nada, é só que... – ela corou, sentindo-se boba, mas respondeu – you're a country, and when I saw you there, I recalled a piece of Brazil's anthem. "Laying eternally on a splendid cradle, by the sound of the sea and the light of deep sky..." It's really a splendid cradle – she concluded, looking around.

– Not as splendid as Mother Russia – he answered. – And also there's no sound of sea here. But the anthem is beautiful. I wanted mine to be so – he complaind, scratching his head. – They did not composed something worthy of me; I really liked the previous better.

– The melody is beautiful – Erika said, sitting beside him, and embracing her knees.

– Oh, the music, yes, the problem is the composer. But it's ok, I already fixed him – said the guy, with his smile broadening ominously. The girl found thought it better not to ask about this fixing.

Silence. You still could hear the squirrels.

– And you, what do you do here outside? – he asked kindly. – Can't sleep?

Erika shook her head. Ivan took off his coat and patted his own chest, indicating that she could/should lay her head there. The girl stared helplessly for a moment, then decided to accept the offer, and leaned over him carefully. She felt that he – too – was tense, but less than in that other time when they had been so close, thanks to General Winter.

He covered her with his long coat. In that moment, there was much more of Ivan than of Russia; he was just a boy, fond and insecure.

The Brazilian looked up, facing his smooth chin.

– You have no beard – she found out, saying the most stupid thing that came across her mind, maybe just to break the weird silence.

– ? – he frowned, and then benignly. – Well, I once had – he told. – But one of my bosses, Peter the Great, forced me to shave it… Well, he plucked it away, in fact… so that I would look like the Europeans.

– Idiot – Erika commented, after a moment.

– I think so – Ivan agreed, wincing briefly when she turned her face away. Their ears, at that time, had already become accustomed to the dispute of the squirrels, as well as with the rest of the choir of the night – frogs, crickets, and even the wind in the leaves – and their eyes began to weigh, so that both Erika and Ivan entered that state of torpor that precedes the actual sleep.

But when the mind of the girl had already outlined a dream in which she replaced the Scrat, of Ice Age, in the quest for a golden lasagna, she felt her support shudder violently and continuously, and Ivan called urgently:

– Erika. Erika! Are you sleeping?

– Not else, why?

– We have to go out of here! – he whispered, almost inaudibly. - Drag up surreptitiously to the car, any suspicious movement, immobilize up; I will gather our stuff and we shall leave in a minute. Go! – He commanded. – Walk, it's an emergency, we have to disappear soon because...

Just that was what she was wondering in amazement. It was a very rare thing to see Russia so scared, and there were only two possible reasons for that: either he was predicting a worldwide cataclysm, or...

– ...we're in Kobrin, right in Bela's house!

* * *

[1] I love you and I hate you


End file.
